Heaven's on Fire
by DancerInTheDark101
Summary: The human mind is a complex thing. When a hunt near New York goes sour, it will take everything the Winchester's have to try and fix it. And even then, it may be too late... Hurt!boys! Rating may go up.


**Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, I'm just messing with their heads for a bit :P**

**Warnings: Dark themes, language - the usual**

**

* * *

**

**Heaven's on Fire**

**DancerInTheDark101**

_

* * *

_

Days of war, and the nights of love

_Heaven's on fire and I'm on the run_

_Dancing with the devil in the midnight sun_

_I'm outta my head, I'm coming undone_

_-- Papa Roach, Nights of Love_

**

* * *

**

I never really thought as to how it happened. I guess I was too numb to think of anything except what had just occurred. It made no sense to me. The world passed in a blur of distorted colour and muffled sound, unable to comprehend what was going on.

**It took a long time for me to understand what was happening, to understand how my life was slowly disappearing into the mist-filled distance. Everything was in shades of grey, colour drained from my very existence. I was win a pit of depression, I see that now. Depression ruled my life. I wouldn't allow myself to see the bright side of life, wouldn't allow myself to even think that there was a life for me that I could live happily. Happy wasn't in my vocabulary. **

**My soul was paralysed, trapped inside a hole so dark and deep; the brightest of light could not enter. And yet, my mind somehow held the antidote to the paralysis, yet I would not use it to free myself. Was I punishing myself by letting my soul stay in the tortured, depressed state it was in? **

**This state of perpetual melancholy lasted for a long time; I don't know the exact length of time, only that it was more than a month and less than a year. I was always alone with my thoughts, no one around to help me lift the dark cloud of doubt over my head. **

**Sometimes I think back to that time and wonder what went so horribly wrong. I can never get the answer. But mostly, I ignore what happened all together. My therapist says that sometimes, in very serious cases, it is better to forget than to dwell on what happened. I don't know what to believe anymore. I want to forget; yet I can't bring myself to completely lock the memories out. **

**Nightmares. I tend to have them a lot. Doc says that it's a natural response that my mind is doing, trying to expel the bad thoughts from my subconscious. Personally, I think that is a load of bullshit. If you were trying to not remember something, why have dreams about it every damn night of the week? **

**I think that the nightmares are something from my past, probably from when I fell into depression. But like I said, that time of my life is blurred. I was unable to tell reality from fantasy. It is a time I would rather forget. **

**The Doc says that its about time I got this stuff onto paper or something, so in our last session, he hands me a damn black bound journal and tells me to write everything down. Who does he think he is? Does he really expect me to write everything down, when I can barely say it aloud? **

**And yet… here I find myself, writing it down. Although, reading back on what I've just written, it's just a bunch of random ramblings from the twisted depths of my mind and memory. I guess if a complete stranger came across this journal and read it, they would want to know what the hell I was talking about. Well, I know I would want to know. So, here goes. I'm going right back to the beginning now. Back to before it happened. Before I lost myself in my own mind, before my soul decided it had suffered enough…**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**March 16 2000**

Roaring down the latest stretch of highway road, Dean Winchester turned to his brother seated in the passengers seat and grinned. He reached forward with one hand and turned the volume dial on the stereo, letting the rocking sounds of Black Sabbath filter through the front seat of the 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

"Dean!" Sam Winchester groaned as the music was turned up even louder to an ear-shattering volume. It didn't help that the music was horrible as well – Black Sabbath had never settled well with the younger hunter.

"What?" Dean screamed back, ignoring the look of complete annoyance filtering across his younger brother's face. He leant back into the seat and pushed down on the accelerator a little harder, feeling the classic car's V8 engine respond delightfully and push forward at an even faster speed. God, he loved this car.

With the sounds of Black Sabbath reverberating through the car, Dean turned his thoughts to the new hunt they were taking up in New York City with their father. He quickly looked into the rear-view mirror and let out a small sigh of relief as he spotted his father's black, ominous black following a little distance behind.

He didn't really know a lot about the hunt, only that there was something killing lots of people in weird, grotesque ways. Their dad knew pretty much everything and when questioned about it, he just told them to keep on driving and that he would tell them more then they got there. For Dean, that was enough. However, Sam always wanted to know more, so for the past few hours, Dean had to put up with a grouchy seventeen-year-old.

While Sam sat in an annoyed silence in the seat beside him, Dean drove on, staring out at the bright sunlight shining down on the world. Every now and then, the elder Winchester had to turn his head away as the sun caught a particularly shiny spot on the hood of the Impala and momentarily blinded him. It wasn't long before it got extremely annoying and he reached over to the glove box to pull out the pair of sunglasses he kept there.

"Dean?" Sam's voice carried over, interrupting his thoughts as his right hand rummaged through the glove box. "Dude, what are you looking for? Keep an eye on the road!" Sam yelled as Dean's hand on the steering wheel slipped and the car lurched sideways.

Jerking upright, Dean focused green eyes back on the road, sunglasses firmly in his hand and a triumphant grin on his face. He turned to Sam, still grinning. "Keep your pants on, Samantha," he teased, loving it when his brother's face screwed up in annoyance again.

"Jerk!" came the retaliation over the music pounding through the speakers. Still grinning, Dean replied with the well-known and anticipated word.

"Bitch." And all was forgiven.

There was an awkward silence following the near-accident and subsequent name-calling, only broken as a new song came over the speakers and Sam noted that it was not Black Sabbath. Silently thanking any god that would listen, Sam was pleased that Dean had decided to listen to his mixed tape rather than one that only had one band on it.

"So, has Dad told you anything more about this hunt yet?" I was an offering of peace from the younger Winchester, in an attempt to dispel the awkwardness that had filled the car. Dean shook his head.

"Nah, Sammy. He just told me that I had to get to New York by this Friday and then he would tell me-us more. I don't even know what we're supposed to be hunting and trust me; I've looked it up. There is nothing even remotely strange going on in NYC."

"Huh. Weird…"

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's response. The supposed genius of the family sounded as articulate as a gold fish.

"So, do you have any theory as to why Dad is sending us to New York? I mean, it is pretty strange since there seems to be nothing supernatural there."

Dean sighed. Sam sounded like a damn broken record. He could just see the itch Sam was begging to scratch – the itch called Dad. These days all they ever did was fight. Whether it be about something important like school, or something as insignificant as to where they were going to eat for tea, they were at it like a couple of PMS-ing high school girls. And to be honest, Dean was starting to tire of it _very_ quickly.

"No, Sam." His voice was strained and he hoped that Sam wasn't picking up on it with his freakish accurate hearing and intuition. "I have no freakin' idea why Dad is sending us to New York. I guess we'll find out when we get there, huh? So until then, will you please drop it?"

Hours later, Dean manoeuvred the Impala into the car park of the Sunshine Inn. He scoffed at the cheesy name of the motel, wishing like hell that there were another, better named, motel somewhere along the desolate road they were travelling on.

Unfortunately, there wasn't, so they were stuck with the Sunshine Inn. Dad checked them in under the name Webber, paying for the night in cash. While he was paying the bill, Dean grabbed his duffle bag from the trunk of the Impala and waited outside the car. Ten minutes later, John emerged from the office and chucked a set of keys at him.

Reading the number on the small, but heinously bright yellow tag, Dean spotted room 12 and headed over, Sam trailing behind him sleepily. A cold wind had picked up since they had last exited the car and Dean shivered slightly as it cut through his leather jacket.

Once he entered the room, the elder Winchester flicked on the light and let his mouth drop open in shock and unfounded horror.

The entire room was painted in an almost fluorescent yellow.

"Ah!" Dean spun around to see Sam standing behind him, mouth dropped open and his eyes hidden behind a hand. The heinously bright walls would have been a serious shock to the sleepy teenager and Dean couldn't help but laugh.

"It's not funny, you jerk," Sam grumbled, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. Dean laughed again and made his way over to one of the beds, which were covered in deep, but vibrant, blue. God, the room was so… so _happy_.

Seconds later, there was a startled gasp from the door and both Dean and Sam looked up to see a horrified John Winchester standing in the doorway, staring at the bright room. No wonder it was called the Sunshine Inn…

"You chose the motel, Dad," Dean stated, happy that the terrible motel hadn't been his choice this time.

"Don't start with me, Dean," came the clipped reply. Dean rolled his eyes when his father's back was turned towards him, receiving a slight giggle from his brother for his efforts. He stopped and stared at Sam, wondering why the hell his seventeen-year-old _brother_ was giggling like some high school girl. Then he saw the hazel eyes dropping to half-mast.

Ahhh, Sammy was tired. He always acted funny when he was half asleep. Dean made a mental note to tease his little brother about the high school girl giggling at a later date. Revenge was going to be sweet. What he was exacting revenge on, he had no idea, but he wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to tease Sam.

"Get some sleep boys. I wanna be in New York by tomorrow evening, so we're going to have to be up early and haul ass to get there in time."

"Yeah, Dad," Dean replied. There was no response from Sam and Dean looked over, not surprised to see that he had passed out on his bed, still fully clothed. His brown shaggy hair was flopped over his forehead, falling into closed eyes. He still had no idea how his younger brother could have his hair so long. Wouldn't it get annoying, falling into his eyes all of the time? Eugh, teenagers, they were the world's greatest mystery.

Glancing at the watch on his right wrist, Dean noted that it was rather late and decided to follow suit and get some shut-eye. His dad flicked the light switch and the room was plunged into darkness, but to his disgust, the horrific yellow walls were still extremely bright.

Hearing light snores coming from Sam, the middle Winchester sighed and rolled over onto his back. He was still fully clothed, but it didn't matter. He would get changed in the morning after braving the mould-infested shower.

"Man," he whispered to himself. "I wonder what's up with this damn hunt. Dad isn't saying nothing. We're completely in the dark here…"

He heaved another loud sigh and rolled back onto his side, trying to block out the noises around him and fall asleep. Sleep hadn't been easy lately. Worry over his brother and father had morphed into almost insomnia and if he couldn't fix it soon, it would probably get one of them killed.

An unfamiliar feeling shot through his gut as Dean lay in the darkened room. It almost felt like complete, undiluted…_fear?_

Something wasn't right. And that's when he heard Sam scream.

* * *

**TBC**

**Author Notes: This fic has been in my mind for weeks now. This is the only chapter written thus far, but I have the entire plot mapped out. It may get quite dark and will delve into the human mind later on. I am more of a Dean girl, but for this fic (and it is probably going to be hard) I am going to have all three Winchesters' share the limelight. Thanks to Sammygirl1963, blue peanut m and m, and darksupernatural for the quick words of wisdom and telling me to go for it. Hope you all enjoyed it. Don't worry, the authors notes will not be this long ever again :)**

**-Rach**


End file.
